


and i'll be your saint

by softhearted



Series: close your eyes [2]
Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: 2x11, Aftermath, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Frank killed Lila, Hurt/Comfort, actually a lot of hurt and very little comfort, mentions of Sam Keating's murder, tiny bit of manipulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-28
Updated: 2016-02-28
Packaged: 2018-05-23 19:43:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6128023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softhearted/pseuds/softhearted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"‘No, Frank, Sam killed Lila,’ she protests, more to herself than to him, because this is why his death was okay, right? Because he killed Lila, and he killed her baby, and he got what was coming to him; a kill for a kill. His life for hers. She thinks about a dead body, head bashed in, blood splatters in Rebecca's mouth, and fights the urge to gag."</p><p>or: Frank killed Lila. Laurel falls apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and i'll be your saint

**Author's Note:**

> once again: this is literally one big run on sentence. also: overuse of commas. 
> 
> this can be read as a standalone "2x11 aftermath story" (or "my take on what should've happened in 2x12") but is actually a sequel to the first piece in this series. so this may or may not be entirely canonical. ohio definitely didn't happen. yet. anyway (spoiler alert) - she didn't kiss wes. not in my version of events. 
> 
> i wrote this in like 30 minutes yesterday and it's so unfinished i might cry, but if I don't post it now I will probably still be stressing over it in 7 months, which would mean no one would ever get to read this. it's also unbetaed. 
> 
> full warnings at the end
> 
> title from hip hip hooray by margot and the nuclear so and so’s 
> 
> [also, i guess this could be considered au since laurel actually became fucking self-confident and the murder helped her find herself to the point of her just being goddamn fantastic but anyway just fill in the blanks yourself]
> 
> EDIT 29.02: edited a bunch of stuff because i woke up this morning, re-read it and cringed.

‘I killed Lila,’ he says, and there’s nothing Laurel can do to tell herself it’s not true, this time, not when he’s right there looking like he might fall apart if she doesn’t say anything. She’s closer to the door than she is to him, and she thinks about running. Somehow, she always thinks about running.

‘No, Frank, Sam killed Lila,’ she protests, more to herself than to him, because this is why his death was okay, right? Because he killed Lila, and he killed her baby, and he got what was coming to him; a kill for a kill. His life for hers. She thinks about a dead body, head bashed in, blood splatters in Rebecca's mouth, and fights the urge to gag.

‘Laurel,’ he starts, but she interrupts; ‘Frank, Sam killed Lila’, shaking her head, eyes closed, eyes open, eyes closed—

Frank shakes his head. ‘Laurel, _Christ_ , it was me,' he tells her, his words echoing inside her head like a record stuck on replay. 'I owed Sam, I owed him, please, you have to believe me; he had something on me, okay? I had to do it for him.’ Frank comes closer, but she steps backwards. Back against door. Nowhere to go. Deer caught in headlights. ‘No, no—Sam... it was Sam, he killed her.’ She’s crying, but she doesn’t care. _Sam killed Lila_. It’s the only thing that kept her from falling apart, from blaming herself. _Sam killed Lila_. This is what made it better, the ashes of his corpse still at the back of her throat. _Sam killed Lila_. The bastard had it coming—he really did, because he killed her. He killed her. _Sam killed Lila_. _Sam killed Lila_. _Sam killed Lila_.

 _Frank killed Lila_. Laurel sobs.

‘There is no excuse,’ Frank murmurs, and she can hear the tremble in his voice but not see it in the way he stands; composed, strong, and eerily calm. She inhales shakily, finding his gaze and looking for answers. ‘There is no excuse. Sam called me. He—Laurel, I owed him. He would’ve ruined me if I didn’t do it, okay? I had to do it, I had to do it. Jesus, I'm so sorry.’

She shakes her head, biting her lip, eyes fluttering shut. ‘Frank...’

He inches closer, step by step, and Laurel can’t get away—doesn’t want to, really. Reaching out his hand, slowly, and she allows him, this murderer, Lila’s killer, to cup her cheek. She leans into it, her entire body shaking with grief and guilt and terror. Again: 'Frank, please, I—’

She thinks about coming here, about nightmares and him not wanting to fuck her like that, not when he wasn't sure if she would still be fine with it tomorrow. She thinks about Frank hoisting her up on the kitchen counter, kissing her before baking her eggs. She thinks about falling asleep next to him and waking up on top of him in the mornings. Love, she thinks, is a cruel thing.

'Laurel, I'm so sorry.' He sounds like he's in pain.

She shakes her head, stepping forward until she can lean her forehead against his chest. She thinks about her father, about the things he's done and she had fought so hard to get away from, but instead walked right into the lion's den that was Frank's embrace.

'I can't do this,' she whimpers, and he puts his hands on her waist like he needs something to hold on to. 'I can't do this. We killed Sam, we killed Sam, and you— _Lila._ Lila and her baby.'

He doesn't say anything at first, just pulls her flush against him, stroking her back, soothing her. She knows she should get away from him—

( _killer, killer, killer_ )

—but she can't; doesn't want to, even. Then: 'I love you. I'm sorry.'

She steps back, looks at him. 'You can't say that.' Accusing, angry. 'You can't say that. Not now. Not now.'

Frank; hurt, quiet: 'But it's true.'

'Just because it's true doesn't mean you have to say it. Just because it's true doesn't mean you have to—' She chokes, cutting off her sentence, sobbing, silently. Frank wants to step closer, but she doesn't let him. She wants to, but she knows she can't. _You're just like my father_ , she wants to say. _You're just like him. You're filthy. You're a killer. You're—_

But of course she doesn't. Of course Laurel keeps her mouth shut. Because this is Frank, and she loves him, and she wants to believe it so bad, that Sam made him do it, that it was still Sam's kill, just through Frank's hands, but she thinks about those hands in her panties, or cupping her cheek, or holding the spoon she tastes sauce from, and all she can think about is _those are the hands you killed her with_.

'I love you,' Frank says again, and she closes her eyes.

'Please don't,' she begs.

Again: 'I love you. I love you. Laurel, I love you.'

She exhales shakily. 'Frank, please.'

He kisses her forehead. 'I love you.' Lips against skin.

Laurel shudders, sags against him, crying, a mess, and she wonders if there's anything he could make her do that would make her stop loving him. 'I hate you,' she replies, voice muffled against his chest.

Frank nods. 'I know. I know. I'm sorry.'

She trembles; exhausted, both from crying and the day she had before, all she can think of now is Frank's bazillion thread-count sheets and her side of the bed. She steps back, untangling her from his embrace. His eyes look watery, his composed stance nothing more than a distant memory. She can't remember a time where Frank ever looked this small.

'I'm going to bed,' she tells him, looking at the floor. She hugs herself, suddenly cold.

Frank straightens his back, his words a jumble of ‘yes, of course, I’ll—I’ll take the couch. You can—’ and his gaze fleeting. She’s staying. She’s staying. She’s staying. He doesn’t know if he has to laugh or cry.

Laurel shakes her head, eyes still downcast. ‘No, it’s fine,’ her words just a mumble, ‘we can—we can share. It’s big enough for the both of us.’ It’s easier, like this, she thinks as she makes her way to the bedroom, leaving Frank behind. _Murderer_. She bites the inside of her cheek. She can’t look at him. It’s easier to forgive him when she doesn’t have to look at his hands, knowing what they have done.

Later, in bed, she lays with her eyes closed and listens to Frank rummage around in the bathroom. When he joins her, careful to not disturb her unmoving form, careful to not even _touch_ her, she feels like crying more than she did when she realised he had killed Lila. This was not Frank; Frank wasn't scared of her, was careful but never like she was going to leave any second. While she has often felt like a deer caught in headlights, to him she had never been one to run away. Right now, she doesn’t even know what they are anymore. In this deer caught in headlights situation, she feels like Frank is the car.

It's quiet, then—they're both awake and both too scared to talk. Laurel, because she doesn't trust herself, and Frank, because right now he isn't sure of anything. When she turns to her side, Frank is already looking at her. She's never seen him this lost before, never like this. She inches closer, hands cold, heart colder, until she is nearly touching him. Frank doesn't move. Frank doesn't even look away from her, doesn't blink—Laurel isn't even sure if he's still breathing.

Then, Laurel lifts her head and places it softly on his chest, his heartbeat rabbiting in her ear. She can feel him exhale in relief. His arm finds his way around her, pulling her close, and he still doesn't say anything, but this says enough. He kisses the top of her head, a quiet _thank you_ in the dead of night—Laurel isn't sure whether to laugh or cry. She loves him—( _killer. murderer. frank. frank. frank. Me, the deer, you, the car. You will crash into me, but god, will it be worth it_ )—and she hates herself for it. But hate is something that can ebb away, she tells herself, and love doesn't wait around, but sometimes it's more _thank you_ s in the dead of night than sweet lovemaking, and Laurel gets that, now. Love, still, is a cruel thing, but maybe she can learn to live with it.

When Frank's breathing evens out, Laurel lifts her head and looks at his face, eyes closed. She places a hand on his cheek and sighs. 'I love you,' she murmurs, and closes her own eyes in defeat.

**Author's Note:**

> mentions of Sam's murder; mentions of Lila's murder; Laurel finds herself choosing between the life she tried to run away from and the life she craves.


End file.
